Bulls of Speewah - RC Pearce

This talk of wild bulls of the Dawson scrubs, says old Joe, leaves me cold.
But I tells you bulls were dinkum cows in them Speewah days of old,
More fiercer than the fiercest cat – more cunning than the blacks,
You’d see ’em drag branches on their tails to cover up their tracks.
You must put right out on leaving camp the fire you’ve had at night,
For them bulls would carry firesticks in their teeth and set your yards alight,
To bellow they had the bower-birds squared to coax you off your course,
Why they even had the dingoes trained to heel your blanky horse.

I mind one day there’s six of us to muster back to Jackass yard,
There was never better ringers in the land, used we was to riding fast and hard;
The boss was there on a raking bay, his pet camp-horse, Swift Desire,
While I kids meself I looks a treat on my black mare, Opal Fire.

Soon we sights a score or so of bulls, they’re as contented as you please,
Some is sharpening horns on sandstone rocks while some is skewering trees;
Well, we makes them blooming cattle go as hard as they can lick,
Though every time I looks behind seems to me they’re gaining quick.

There’s a big roan bloke about a yard behind when down comes me mare and me,
So just to see the other blokes is right I starts up the nearest tree;
That old bull ain’t a bloomin’ snob, he helps me with a whack,
Perhaps I goes up a little fast, I grabs a good limb coming back.

Well, I’m up here and he’s down there, seems as if he’d like to stay,
Then as I have no use for him I lets him mooch away,
Down I comes and grabs me mare (her foot’s caught in the rein),
And I’m as keen as mustard now to help me mates again.

I circles round and cuts their tracks but stares hard at the trail,
All them blokes has still been in the lead, there’s been none on wing and tail;
They’re heading straight for Jackass yard, it’s plain the way they went
They’ve torn two-foot trees out by the roots, even the hills seem bent.

But when I gets in sight of that there yard I just stops goggle-eyed,
For them blarmed bulls is camping by the gate, it’s the ringers wot’s inside.
So now when I hears them talk of Dawson days my thoughts fly back to when
The wild bulls of the Speewah scrubs would muster up the men.

Thanks DNO! Good to know that he gets up this way every now and then too!
LOL at the Bulls of Speewah!

:cheers:
Tan

Andy's Gone With Cattle


Henry Lawson


1888


Our Andy's gone to battle now
'Gainst Drought, the red marauder;
Our Andy's gone with cattle now
Across the Queensland border.

He's left us in dejection now;
Our hearts with him are roving.
It's dull on this selection now,
Since Andy went a-droving.

Who now shall wear the cheerful face
In times when things are slackest?
And who shall whistle round the place
When Fortune frowns her blackest?

Oh, who shall cheek the squatter now
When he comes round us snarling?
His tongue is growing hotter now
Since Andy cross'd the Darling.

The gates are out of order now,
In storms the "riders" rattle;
For far across the border now
Our Andy's gone with cattle.

Poor Aunty's looking thin and white;
And Uncle's cross with worry;
And poor old Blucher howls all night
Since Andy left Macquarie.

Oh, may the showers in torrents fall,
And all the tanks run over;
And may the grass grow green and tall
In pathways of the drover;

And may good angels send the rain
On desert stretches sandy;
And when the summer comes again
God grant 'twill bring us Andy.

BLACKLISTED

Through the course of my life I've rode many strange things,
like the time on old Chainsaw out near Alice Springs
and that camel at Boulia called Topupmebeer,
but my craziest ride was November last year.

Neil McArthur had purchased Thong Classic, you see,
and he gave me the ride. I was proud as can be.
It was true that my weight was a flamin' disgrace,
but with Jenny Craig's help I'd be right for the race.

When the big day arrived I was on a great high,
till they gave me pink silks and a purple bow tie.
Still I swallowed my pride with a green and blue pill,
just to help me erase how I looked like a dill.

Then I strode on outside to the mounting yard there
and controlled my emotions by saying a prayer,
but it's hard to control the adrenalin flow
when your mongrel bred mount goes and stands on your toe.

Still my focus returned at the barrier gates
and despite the cat calls from my smart jockey mates;
When the starter cried “Racing!” what went through my mind,
was when Thong Classic jumped, would he leave me behind?

Midst the thunder of hooves and the riders’ wild screams
I was jammed in the pack, but was wise to their schemes,
so I dropped back a little and let the mob pass,
but I'd prove in the straight they were up against class.

I moved up on the outside to pass Bold Eclipse
when this poncy young jockey bloke puckered his lips.
Well I kicked well away and I picked up the pace
and a divot of turf hit him smack in the face.

With the straight just ahead it was now time to move
and Thong Classic sensed too he had something to prove.
When I went for the whip the horse lengthened his stride
and I knew I was in for one hell of a ride.

From the stands the crowd screamed and were going berserk
while McArthur cried, "Ride, pinkie ride you great berk."
Then I stood in the stirrups, applying the whip,
but a length from the finish ... I felt my foot slip.

As I crashed to the ground I lay writhing in pain
when a voice from the dark cried, "You're flamin' insane!"
To my horror I saw from my back on the floor
my poor wife on the bed looking terribly sore.

She'd a cord in her mouth from my old dressing gown
and was bowed in the back lying tummy side down.
She had marks on her thigh from the welts from my belt
while the screams I had heard were from pain she had felt.

It took months to live down what took place on that night
and to stave off divorce proved a flamin’ tough fight.
I'm blacklisted from races and all TABs
and I sleep with darn hobbles strapped round both me knees.


©Bush Poet and Balladeer
Merv Webster


Conversing with Neil McArthur at Bobby Millers Wake, we all realized we were there to celebrate Bobby's life, so one could not help but indulge in the larrikin spirit he was so famous for. Know for his comical verses, Neil has a thing about thongs and many titles in his books and albums contain a thong theme. He also loves the horses and he has shares in one. We were rather amused to find one of the starters in the Melbourne Cup was Thong Classic. The rest is poetic licence.